


Periwinkle Walls and Model Houses

by ChrysalisGray



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrysalisGray/pseuds/ChrysalisGray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy Weasley and Lorcan Scamander are not compatible in any way, shape, or form.</p>
<p>This is a collection of stories of the strange, incompatible relationship between Lorcan and Lucy and how their vast differences were the same thing that kept them sealed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A part of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. 
> 
> Normally, I can not stand Next-Gen. But I really like the way this came out.

Title: Periwinkle Walls and Model Houses

 

Description: Lucy Weasley and Lorcan Scamander are not compatible in any way, shape, or form.

 

Prompts: Weasley – Lucy Weasley. Prompts – (word) Backpack. (Color) Periwinkle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lucy Weasley would never understand the complexity that is Lorcan Scamander. Lorcan was as mysterious as the ocean, tidier than an elder single witch, wiser than the non-fiction section of a library, and loonier than the toons on the Muggle telly. When Lucy had opened the door to her flat, she hadn't expected her childhood best-friend to be standing on the front steps with a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. She also hadn't expected him to push past her with luggage in one hand and a duster in the other. He cleaned and scrubbed and washed and stayed silent. He scrubbed his way into Lucy's home, and Lucy did not say a word about it. It was not as if it was his first time barging in her front door and cleaning his way inside, but she hadn't expected him to come back after he had left only a month before. Her once charming, homely flat was transformed into an unrecognizable, organized exhibit. It was as if no one had lived there or as though it were a model-home of some sort that was made to be seen but not lived in.

 

Lorcan doesn't seem to mind, of course. He wiped every seat before he sat on it, he transfigured rubber gloves before he washed the dishes, and he leaves a row of candles going down the hall, the stairs, and to the kitchen.

 

"For the Nargles," Lorcan would say if Lucy ever tried questioning him, his methods, or his seemingly organised disorder. He didn't so much as bat an eye when Lucy burnt herself when she trudged downstairs for a midnight snack. The candles always seemed to be gone by the morning, Lucy had noticed, and after the 'burnt incident' the candles found their way to the walls instead.

 

It needed no mention that Lorcan was a complete and utter git. Everyone knew it, and Lucy knew it best of all. There wasn't a day that went by that Lorcan didn't insult Lucy about her "lack of education," despite the fact that Lucy was ranked third of her entire graduating class. He would tell her that her hair color clashed with the outfit he was wearing. He'd rattle on and on about just how "completely insulting" her wardrobe was or nag her about cleaning her room. And if the growing list of sins against Lorcan's world wasn't long enough, he would order her to stop checking the wards every few minutes.

 

"Stop it," Lorcan would say when Lucy complained that there was nothing to do.

 

"Eat it," he said when he experimented with cooking.

 

"Leave it," he said when Lucy tried to ask him what happened to his mother. He rarely left the house and when he did it was because Lucy was practically dragging him to see the newest addition to the Weasley name. He used words that cut deeper than a knife and spat insults that stung more than a hex. Thus, it was the utmost irony that it was Lorcan that could whisper words that dripped with such emotion and comfort that it soothed Lucy in an instant.

* * *

 

 

Lorcan Scamander would never understand the complexity that is Lucy Weasley. Lucy was more stubborn than a mule, as frantic as a criminal on the run, left a mess in her wake that was worse than a tornado, and was as indecisive as a candy-addict thrown in a candy shop with only 5 knuts to their name. She never cleaned her house and decided what was acceptable to eat by whatever she touched first when she reached her hand into the fridge. She left a backpack full of her old school things in the kitchen despite knowing that Lorcan would just throw it in the trash every time he arrived.

 

He knew he had a habit of leaving just to come right back the next month. Lorcan decided that Lucy needed him in her life, after all, despite their bickering and disagreements. He was proud of the outcome of the flat when he was finished tidying it up. He even found himself sleeping that night without any interruptions or nightmares; he even woke up with a tiny smile.

 

Whatever peace he may have gained, however, all went away as soon as he stepped downstairs. It was as if he never touched it. Lucy came out of the bathroom with a bounce to her step. She whistled, she skipped, and she was loud. The cabinets were opened, the sink had dishes, and, just as Lorcan was in the midst of analyzing the horrible mess, Lucy had spilled a container of orange juice all over the counter.

 

He just didn't understand. It was as if a pig lived there, as if it were a farm. Lucy doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. She didn't take off her shoes when she came home from work. She refused to disconnect the fireplace from the Floo network ,no matter if the house looked like a stampede of rhinos has gone through it, because she "wanted her friends to visit whenever they wanted to," and she kept a whole cabinet stocked full of coffee beans.

 

"For the jitters," she'd say about her constant paranoia when Lorcan ever tried questioning her. Lucy, honestly, was the last witch on earth who needed coffee in her diet. She was too energetic than her own good. There wasn't a day that went by that Lorcan didn't catch her running in place at the strangest of hours or have her randomly ask him about his constantly changing hair color. She'd talk on and on about how much she hated the color periwinkle despite the fact that her room were painted the exact color along with her nails. She'd wear clothes that made her look like she was homeless and had only one outfit to her name and then stare in disbelief when Lorcan told her to change.

 

"Do it," Lucy would say when Lorcan was sure he should do the exact opposite.

 

"Deal with it," she would say when Lorcan complained how bad the shirt would look with his hair color.

 

"Look at it!" she would plead when she held a sickeningly adorable puppy up to his face.

 

She would always leave the house and drag him along with her. Her smile was the only calm thing about her, and her laugh made Lorcan wish he were somewhere else. Yet, when she looked at him with those startlingly bright, blue eyes as he walked out of the door for the umpteenth time, he would slowly analyze why he kept trying to leave in the first place.

* * *

 

 

Lorcan shared his mother's genes in so many ways. He had her dream-dazed eyes, her starry blonde hair, and her love for believing. He would recite random quotes from different plays from his mind as he cooked without a second thought, he would meditate every Sunday to "become refreshed for the upcoming week," and he would sometimes even remember to ask Lucy about her life and how she was handling it. At times like those, Lucy thought that he was his mother in mind and spirit.

 

Lorcan would deny it all, of course. "I'm nothing like my mother," he would say.

 

"Do not speak of her," he'd snap soon after before going silent.

 

"Coffee?" he'd ask as an apology always half an hour later.

* * *

 

 

Lucy shared her father's genes in very little ways. She had her father's obnoxious, red hair but that is where it all ended. She had the mouth of a sailor and the eyes of adventure like her mother. She was constantly in fear of her father coming to visit her. She would check the wards every few minutes, she would carry her wand in her left sleeve, and she would never walk into a room without casting a slew of various detection charms.

 

"I'm nothing like my father," she would say, seemingly more to herself than to anyone else.

 

"I am not afraid of him," she'd say once Lorcan would state so before biting her lip.

 

"Read to me?" she'd ask as an apology always five minutes later.

* * *

 

 

Lorcan would leave every month, and every month Lucy became less and less sure that he'd come back.

 

"Living my life," he'd say when Lucy would ask where he went.

 

"I won't leave again," he'd promise her soon after.

 

Lucy would pretend she didn't hear the crack of apparition during the night after a month passed. Lucy would leap into his arms when he would return the following month, and every month Lucan was less and less sure that she'd hug him again.

* * *

 

"Where have you been?" she'd ask while she buried her head in his chest.

 

"Ok," she'd whisper when he would promise he wouldn't leave again. Lucan would pretend he didn't hear the sobs coming from Lucy's room just before he apparated away.

* * *

 

 

They were both good at pretending things didn't matter when they did. It was the one thing they could truly say they had in common. Despite a hundred, thousand clashes like two opposing seas meeting together in a whirlpool, when Lorcan looked into Lucy Weasley's eyes, it was there he saw perfection. As he saw himself reflected in the cerulean majesty of her eyes, he knew exactly why he would always return.


	2. Delicate Heroes and Silver Spoons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2.

Title: Delicate Heroes and Silver Spoons

Prompt: Song = Hero by Enrique Iglesias.

Song Line: 'Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind?'

Description: Pairing: Lorcan/Lucy

Other Prompts: (Word) Delicate (Word) Spoon 12. (Quote) 'Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose.

**-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-**

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Lorcan Scamander was stuck with Lucy Weasley as a friend. To make things even worse, many may have gone so far as to say she was his best friend. Lucy Weasley was a bloody Gryffindor for Merlin's sake.

Lorcan has an inkling that the clumsy, over-adventurous, stubborn, brat was a snake in lion's clothing. The girl had been able to successfully manipulate Lorcan just as recently as a few minutes ago, in fact. As he stood right outside the coffee-colored door, he found himself thinking about just turning back around and escaping into the night once more for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

But, he couldn't do that. Of course he couldn't. He had made a promise to not leave ever again. Of course, this was his second time making that particular promise, but he liked to pretend that the first time didn't count. He let out a breath just to watch his breath magically take form and cloud in front of him before disappearing into the atmosphere. He wondered why he kept coming back to the same little apartment. Maybe it was because he knew she was waiting for him on the other side.

**-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-**

For some reason, once again, Lucy Weasley cared deeply for Lorcan Scamander. He was her best friend since the end of 5th year. How could she not have developed some kind of feelings for the odd bloke nearly three years later? Lorcan Scamander was a Slytherin, much to the disapproval of her father, and Lucy had no doubt that he belonged there. He had a way of mixing her mind up, making her choose one way when she wanted the other. It was just Lorcan. He had once told her in a moment of weakness that Lucy had the ability to manipulate his own being just by being who she was.

She willed herself not to respond, knowing that if she did, the moment would be ruined, and Lorcan would go back to being his cold, passive self. Exposing their every weakness is definitely not something that Slytherins had a habit of doing, so Lucy had known by just that tiny bit of information that she was locked with him for good. As she rested her head against the front door she wondered when she was being herself enough for him to come back.

**-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-**

"It's just one sip," Lucy said to him in the dim-lit kitchen.

Lorcan glanced at the mug that he held firmly on his lap. One sip can go a long way.

"One sip could damage our minds severely," Lorcan said with as much venom as he could manage when he was talking to Lucy—which wasn't a very large amount as of late.

Lucy rolled her eyes with a snort.

"We're damaged already," She replied as she brought the mug to her lips, "don't you think?" She took a sip from the coffee and gave him a very unGryffindor-ish smirk.

"You practically dumped a full vial of Veritaserum in this. A vial. You only need a few drops under normal circumstances, brat." He tried reasoning with her but Lucy Weasley had unfortunately gotten some of the rather annoying, stubborn Weasley traits. One of them was impulsiveness. It was one of many.

"This isn't normal circumstances, is it?" she questioned.

Lorcan hated when she replied with a question. He stirred his tainted coffee with his silver spoon.

"How do you know we won't become mentally unstable?" he asked one last time.

Lucy gave him the knowing grin she always wore when she knew that he was going to give in. "I don't," she said truthfully. The veritaserum was working successfully, at least. Lorcan had made it, of course, it was practically guaranteed to be successful.

The once-blond-now-dyed-pink-haired Slytherin gave a defeated sigh before taking a sip from the mug and set it back in his lap. He closed his eyes and tried to think of any lie to tell himself, but nothing would come to mind. He wasn't sure that he wanted any lies to come, but it seemed to be working.

"Ok. Let's start."

The redhead suddenly wore a serious expression.

"Where do you leave to every month?"

**-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-**

"Anywhere" was the only thing he said. It was so vague yet it was the most explanatory thing Lucy had ever heard him tell her. The answer startled her so much, she was speechless. She just stared at the silver spoon that slighted moved in the white mug that sat in Lorcan's lap.

Lorcan always had a thing for silver and gray. He would never admit it was his favorite color to Lucy because, as he so eloquently worded it, 'only trapped people have a favorite color,' but Lucy knew the truth, no matter what he said. And that was always the thing for Lorcan. He did not want to be trapped; he wanted to be free. He wanted to be his own person. He didn't want to be compared to his mother.

When Lucy would ask him why he always had some sort of silver on him at all times, he gave her a look that seemed to say "Why do I associate with beings such as yourself?"

"It's pure. It gives off a reflection of a person's true form," he said nonchalantly as if he had to explain such things everyday. To be fair, he did because Lucy asked him every day to see if he'd give her a different answer.)

He never did.

"So, being here is too restricting for you? Even when you promised not to leave again?" Lucy found herself whispering. She had thought a calm, quick rebuttal would be what met her ears, but she just heard silence. Her eyes met the eyes of her best friend. She watched him whisper something before getting up and slipping out of the front door.

"I do not keep promises."

**-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-**

Lucy Weasley was Lorcan Scamander's delicate hero. She had been ever since the end of 5th year. His mother, Professor Lovegood, had died just days before he had sat next to the Gryffindor on the Hogwarts Express. When other students had first learned that his mother was the Divination professor, they were confused. His mother had kept her Lovegood name instead of taking on his father's. Each time one would ask why she hadn't taken the name, she just simply responded with "Then my father would be lonely."

His once sepia-toned-world was turned black and white overnight. He could no longer see the brightness and joy in life that his mother would always tell him about. There were no nargles. They had simply ceased to exist. They couldn't exist in a world where his mother was not. He was one of the first on the train and watched as the others passed him by to sit with their friends. They did not want to sit by him, and, for that reason alone, Lorcan was pleased. He could view his monotone world by himself.

But then, Lucy Weasley stepped on to the Express. At first she just seemed to blend in the background. The lighter grays blended with the darker whites making everything just seem faded and dull. It was all the same for every other student that boarded the train, except that when Lucy Weasley got to Lorcan's seat, she didn't keep walking. She sat next to him.

"Hey, you're Professor Lovegood's son."

He didn't answer.

"I heard about your mother. I'm sorry."

He made a mental note of where his wand was. He desperately wanted to shoot a stinging hex at the annoying brat. Before he could do so, however, the brat shoved her opened palm in his face. He looked to see what exactly she was trying to put in his possession.

It was a pile a twigs. He eyed her with a look of disgust.

"What are you doing?" He finally asked after seconds of just staring at the junk.

"It's from a nargle nest. Professor Lovegood showed it to me a year ago. The nest was recently destroyed. I don't know if she ever told you about it, so I wanted to give you the remaining pieces of it that I could manage."

Lorcan blinked as a hint of blue flashed across his eyes.

"I have been seeing you around a lot lately, but when I do, you never look present. You never seem to be mentally there. I thought this could keep you in place." She took a deep breath as if giving herself confidence before continuing. "Yesterday is not ours to recover."

Then she placed the remnants of the nest in his hand that he didn't notice was outstretched until he felt the woody textures of the twigs. Suddenly, his world turned colorful. The gray, cloudy mess of hair that grew from Lucy Weasley's head was now an airy, fiery halo, her dull, pointless eyes were now a vibrant, liquid blue, and her monotone shade of skin was now tinge pink in her cheeks.

Lucy Weasley had reintroduced him back a world of color. Lucy Weasley was forever Lorcan Scamander's delicate hero.

**-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-**

Lucy Weasley felt her tears rolling down her cheek at the memories that flooded her mind. Did she fall too hard? Was she in too deep to recover from? Her breath hitched when a firm knock on the door seemed to echo through her back and through her body. She stood up and opened the door once again for what seemed like the hundredth time since she's known the peculiar, distant Slytherin.

Lorcan Scamander looked at her with eyes the color of over-washed cotton sheets. They seemed to scream everything she had wanted to hear since the beginning.

"You're not a restriction. You make me freer than I ever thought I could be." Lorcan just let his words spill from his lips. Lucy watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched as he strained himself to keep going. He was willing himself to pour his heart out to Lucy and, Merlin, Lucy was going to let him.

Lorcan took a step forwards so he was almost inside the door but not quite. "Yes, yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose, you brat." He took another step so he was merely one arm-length away from where Lucy was standing. "You're my delicate hero, Lucy."

Lucy scanned her best friend's appearance and took notice of the silver barrette that held back a piece of the boy's hair. She felt her chest tighten and her heart warm as he engulfed her in his arms. "You bring color to my black and white world."

Later, Lucy would think back on this moment and laugh and taunt him for the sappy words that he let emit from his mouth. She would accept his silent apologies and his wordless declaration of love all the while mocking that he 'read too many romance novels' and ignoring the fact that those sappy words were just the thing that made her remember how to be herself.

There would be a time in the future, when Lucy would find a small and delicate shadow-box hidden with Lorcan's things. The contents were seemingly innocuous: a small bundle of twigs. Under the twigs would be a small silver plaque with words scribed on them with a finely controlled hand.

"Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose."


End file.
